[By her smile and her soft laugh, the Queen is clearly delighted by the gesture. One cold fingertip gently tucks beneath his chin, tipping his head up. She leans down and kisses his forehead, and her fingertip runs down lightly and taps against his chest, a pendant of a twisted, thorned rose vine left dangling in the place she touched.]
Ah, but I chose so very well with you, didn't I, darling?
[Her finger flicks his chin lightly as she draws back.]
[He does, somewhat deliciously chilled at the point of contact, as his fingers go to the pendant now resting against his chest. It's cold, and bites at his fingertips before the heat of his touch warms it.]
Thank you, my queen, for your generosity.
[He doesn't release it immediately, a little shimmer of his own magic passing over it.]
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Ah, but I chose so very well with you, didn't I, darling?
[Her finger flicks his chin lightly as she draws back.]
You may rise.
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Thank you, my queen, for your generosity.
[He doesn't release it immediately, a little shimmer of his own magic passing over it.]
I do intend to prove you right.
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[Mab kisses her cold fingertips and touches them lightly to Mordred's lips.]
See that you don't disappoint me.
[And with a whirl of black smoke, her form vanishes.]